


Christmas Spirit

by rain_sleet_snow



Category: Primeval
Genre: Age Difference, Christmas, F/F, Family Drama, M/M, Strictly Come Dancing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 19:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13553721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: Lester watches the Strictly Christmas special with his partner and his daughter, and enjoys (for the first time that holiday) a modicum of festive peace.





	Christmas Spirit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fififolle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fififolle/gifts).



"There's no call to say _I told you so_ ," Lester said preemptively, resting his head in Becker's lap. Absently, Becker handed a half-full glass of brandy down to him. Lester took a sip and gave it back.

"I didn't say it." The fingers of Becker's free hand curved softly through Lester's hair, pushing it out of its stress-induced disorder. 

Liz, who was on the other sofa, twisted for long enough to glance across at them and then twisted back. On the TV, assorted B-List celebrities were cavorting in sequins, with varying degrees of success. Liz appeared to be on her phone, which suggested that she was texting Juliet about the show; Juliet always seemed to have strong opinions on the dancing, although she was strictly a ballet dancer.

"It worked out, though," Becker said softly. "Everything isn't always a disaster in the making."

Lester closed his eyes. "No. I know." He groped around in the semi-darkness until he found Becker's hand, and curled his fingers tightly round it. "I'm sorry."

Becker's fingers closed on his own, and then one broad, slightly rough thumb swept soothingly along his wrist. "It's okay. I like you _because_  you're incredibly dramatic."

Lester opened his eyes for the express purpose of glowering at Becker. "Pots and kettles."

"No _yelling_ ," Liz said. "I'm trying to follow the dance."

"Oh, excuse us," Becker said. "Are you trying to follow the dance or Imogen Holloway's legs in that costume?"

Liz's ears went red. "Juliet says she's better than all the others."

"Oh. Excuse _me_ ," Becker said, plainly enjoying himself. 

Lester, who wanted to maintain a shred of domestic harmony while he could, elbowed Becker in the thigh. Becker snorted, but settled down and went back to his brandy. 

He was so calm now. Lester wasn't sure he'd ever heard Becker bother to raise his voice before lunchtime - although admittedly he'd never seen his partner in the field, and neither of them had ever taken a really bad mood out on the other one before. They'd both got out of bed low on festive spirit after a Christmas Eve family dinner at Liz's grandmother's, which had encompassed not only Lester's three children, ex-wife and new partner, but all of Kathy's brothers, sisters and cousins, plus their children.

It had been a riot. Not everyone had behaved well. Lester certainly didn't believe that Liz's cousin Hugo had given himself a nosebleed on a cupboard door - Liz could run her knuckles under cold water all she liked, they were _still_ bruised - but given the bile Hugo's parents had been spewing Lester suspected provocation, and wasn’t going to ask questions. Liz's younger brother Jamie had also added to the confusion by loudly announcing, in the middle of the main course, that he didn't believe in God and no, Auntie Andrea, I'm not going to get confirmed. 

Andrea had then been unwise enough to suggest that Jamie's surviving leukaemia was proof of the existence of a benign God, possibly the only thing that could have united Liz and her mother in rage, and Lester had corralled both his sons and escaped to the kitchen to help with the washing up. Where he found his former brother-in-law trying to argue the legality of the Iraq War with Becker as if he, Becker, had been personally responsible for it, a line of argument Becker had eluded by explaining that he had been nineteen in 2003. This had thrown a spanner in the works of Robert's argument, but had also rather shocked most of the company, or at least the ones that were sober enough to calculate Becker's current age.

Lester had been extremely sorry to leave Liz with her mother and brothers for Christmas night. He wasn't remotely surprised that both he and Becker had slept badly and woken cross the following morning. Attempts to be cheerful had not done more than paper over the cracks, nothing about the cooking had gone right, Lester had become upset, Becker had tried to jolly him along, Lester had snapped, Becker had snapped back, and Liz had bounced through the door (on the dot of 12.40, having sworn in blood to stay at her mother’s until noon) to find a full-on civil war raging in the kitchen. 

Lester had been strongly tempted to give in and cry. Only the ludicrous look of shock on Liz's face had stopped him.

"Okay," he'd said, pinching his nose. "Okay. Fuck this. Turkey goes back in the oven. It's cooked when it’s cooked. Just so long as none of us gets food poisoning. Becker, I want a whisky, have you seen the bottle?"

"Uh," Liz had muttered.

"Elizabeth _Alison_."

"Uncle Ralph had it last. It might be empty."

"There will be enough," Lester had said magisterially, located the bottle, and helped himself and Becker to a glass.

"Presents?" Becker had suggested, and looking at him smiling lopsidedly Lester hadn't even been able to work out why they'd argued.

"Definitely," Liz had said, "if you two are done with the shouting."

"Yes." The word had spilled out of Lester before he knew it, and when Liz had gone to drop her bag in her room he'd turned to Becker with a mouth full of apologies.

Becker had been smiling still. "It's fine," he'd murmured. "It'll be okay."

Lester had leaned into Becker's arms and let out his breath and allowed himself to believe it, and when Liz had wandered back in he'd felt rather than saw Becker wink at her over his head and give her a discreet thumbs-up.

She was looking back at them now, over her shoulder, and she had her phone in her hand.

"Delete that," Becker said mildly.

"No, it's cute." 

"Ugh," Lester said. " _Eliza_."

"Really?" Becker said, talking over him. "Send it to me, then."

"It's a conspiracy," Lester said, hand over his eyes. "You're out to get me."

Becker snorted, and Liz laughed. 

Lester hid his smile.


End file.
